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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296902">A Fly in Bitter Honey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamoon/pseuds/celinamoon'>celinamoon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Garden Bench Stories [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:48:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24296902</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/celinamoon/pseuds/celinamoon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Cliff has been Rick's stuntman, personal gofer, and shadow for sometime. Eventually, their lives became so interdependent that when Cliff moved into Rick's house something had to give. And, it did. These are the further adventures of the boys as they inch their way past denial.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cliff Booth &amp; Rick Dalton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Garden Bench Stories [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Fly in Bitter Honey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/terebi_me/gifts">terebi_me</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story, the second in a trilogy I have titled "Garden Bench Stories," has taken many months to write. Its first iteration was very dark and very, very,  graphic. Not my style or to my taste at all. Those who read it were not thrilled. My advice is to never listen to suggestions from a gay florist who has a full size carboard cutout of Brad Pitt in his store’s backroom.  I put it away (the story, not the cutout) and waited several months before attacking it with a scythe. Here is the outcome. I am afraid it has emerged with its original sulfurous odor replaced by a slight whiff of Barbara Cartland.</p><p>I have again played with the order of the events in the film without- I hope- veering too far from canon.</p><p>This story has not been proofed. All syntactical, grammatical, or orthographical errors are mine. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.  Feedback and constructive comments would be most appreciated. </p><p>My thanks to the garden bench.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rick woke up with a blinding headache, a sore jaw, and a funny taste in his mouth. Strong arms and muscular thighs were pinning his torso and legs against solid flesh; even moving his face proved to be impossible as he found his dried lips glued to a soft nub that could only be a nipple. The feelings of safety flooding through him more than made up for his immobility; so he lay very still and clung to the moment. As the morning light streamed through the wide open bedroom curtains and warmed the still air, sweat began to form on the chest that fixed him and slowly, oh so slowly, his lips found release. He was torn between the need to relieve himself and the desire to lick at the salty droplets located only a tongue flick away. The former won out. He gently teased himself out of the knot of flesh that gripped him, quietly slid across the silk bed sheets he lay on, and groggily stood up. Looking down at his captor he encountered a sight that made him hold his breath- Cliff  lying on his side naked, the sun shining on him, transforming him into the golden man he had met eleven-odd years ago.</p><p>The morning glare smoothed out the wrinkles on Cliff’s face. It leveled the scars on his skin turning it into a silky fuzzy fabric. His tousled hair glowed like spun gold in the California sunshine. This was the Cliff that had captured his imagination when they had been introduced. To him this rogue, fearless and cocky- with a not quite smile always gracing his face- was the embodiment of all that he wanted to be in life; and all that on film he pretended to be.</p><p>Slowly, as his hangover abated, Rick began to remember last night’s events; and what he had done to Cliff. The proofs of his rutting through all of last night were very evident on Cliff’s skin- purple bruises on the man’s hipbones where Rick had clamped his hands to press the stuntman’s groin onto his face, long scratches from his teeth scraping at sweat coated flesh, and a bluish tint on swollen and overtaxed testicles and cock. Yes, he had consumed Cliff’s body. He had not stopped until Cliff's body would no longer respond to Rick’s manipulation.</p><p>What had Cliff done? Nothing. What had Cliff said? Not much. Not one word of protest, not one sound of discomfort, had he uttered. He had lain submissively, a slight smile on his face, while Rick abused his flesh in every way possible, given him a few deep kisses, called him every treacly pet name ever conceived, and sporadically let out a sentence or two about what he planned to do to his body. He remembered what Cliff had said. “Fuck my box? What?! When did I grow one of those?” He staggered towards the can, his morning wood harder than he ever remembered and his marguerita bloated bladder distended to near bursting. He got as far as the bathroom door when a noise from the bed made him turn.</p><p>Half roused; Cliff mumbled and rearranged himself to face Rick. There, standing drenched in the morning sun was his TV cowboy. In the morning glow Rick became again the young star of a television western that he had been hired to stunt double. In those days they had a very strong physical resemblance. Like him, Rick’s body had been lean and his face long, flawless, even pretty. Now, Rick’s body and face were tending towards fleshiness. The heavy drinking had made him bloated. Only numerous ice water baths could correct the sag of his features. Even with Cliff’s daily grooming he looked fragile and sad. In contrast, Cliff’s body was still supple and muscular but crisscrossed with an accumulation of scars that chronicled years of stunt accidents. His face retained its lean structure and angular features. Now, surmounted by fine lines, it had been reshaped from eye-catching pretty to strikingly handsome. Cliff was thirteen years older than Rick. Yet now, in unsparing morning light, he looked younger.</p><p>Cliff’s eyes settled on Rick’s erection and on that incipient bit of belly roll that surmounted the man’s crotch. He didn’t know exactly why, but that little mound of pale soft flesh aroused him. Possessive thoughts of squeezing and kneading that swell and laying his head on the soft yielding expanse warmed him. The discomfort in his crotch grew as his body responded to this unanticipated fantasy. His sore cock and its swollen pendant balls protested. Last night Rick had more than made up for inexperience with enthusiasm. Cliff needed another focus, fast.  Fortunately, Rick’s hardon was conveniently available. He pointed to the erection and without considering what he was saying blurted out, “Let me take care of that kitten.”</p><p>Rick stared at Cliff and mulled the offer. The more he thought about it, the more insecure he felt. The dark and alcohol have a way of softening and cushioning behavior. Intimacy in the dark becomes awkward groping in the light. “What had they really done last night? What do you call it? What had he done last night? Cliff had… What?” During their years of partnering their play had never crossed the boundary between warm intimacy and sexual touching. Yes, from the beginning their interaction had been effortless and they had always been each others’ wing man. Trawling for willing beaver had been easy from the beginning; Rick’s popularity had seen to that. As time went on and fame faded, Cliff’s looks combined with Rick’s Cadillac made do. When the hour was very late and the pickings were slim they tag teamed and shared the catch; but never have they crossed swords. The overt realization of what he had done to Rick's body  startled and unnerved him. Intensifying his distressed state was that he could not bring himself to consciously express the question whose answer would expose his future dynamic with Cliff:  Had he done it right? Had Cliff enjoyed it? Had he pleased Cliff? He turned his head towards the bathroom door. "Pleased? Shit. Is that what I'm worried about? When we get out of the car's back seat am I going to put my head on his shoulder and ask if it he had liked it and will he call me tomorrow? Shit!"</p><p>A state of frantic panic was normal for Rick, one of paralyzing anxiety was not. Indignation and one of his internal erratic dialogues neutralized it.  “Now he wants to touch me? Now I’m a cat?” The image of Cliff fisting his cock made him grow limp. Awkwardness as intense as the passion he had felt last night descended over him. “Hey, thanks partner, but no. If we started up again we wouldn’t leave the bed all day and your cock is in no condition to start up something it can’t finish. Besides, We have a place to go.” Rick was blushing as he walked into the bathroom. Smiling, Cliff grunted and stretched. “Mister I don’t get up before fucking ten unless I’m working Rick Dalton getting up early and wanting to go out while the sun shone? Man, I must still be drunk.” His focus pivoted to Rick’s sensually jiggling backside and considered. “When did I begin to think of that ass as ripe and sexy?”</p><p>Cliff rolled over to the edge of the bed. His gaze settled on the brown fur, large flopping jowls, and sad reproachful eyes of a pit bull terrier. Brandy had sneaked her way into the bedroom and was now sitting on the floor by Cliff’s side, waiting for an explanation. A wronged woman, she wanted to know why she had been replaced in Cliff’s affections. Cliff bent down and rubbed Brandy’s head. “Not true baby. I love you as much as ever. It’s just that the kitten and I… It’s just different… OK?”  She replied with a sneeze/snort and went around to Rick’s side of the bed. There, she climbed up on the mattress and waited for Rick’s return; ready to endure his vigorous rubs and kisses. Out of caution a rejected Cliff kept his thoughts to himself. “Hmmm… She knows on which side her bread is buttered… In her case which hands feed her extra cans of Wolf’s Tooth … Got the feeling that she’s decided who she wants to keep and sleep with and it ain’t me.” He chuckled, “Better start sleeping with one eye open or for sure some night she’s going to clamp her teeth around my junk and drag me into a hole in the garden…”</p><p>As if on cue, Rick poked his head out of the bathroom, “Take her out partner and then feed her. You can wash up while I get dressed and then we can go out for breakfast.” Cliff relaxed. “Orders, that’s more like it.”  Reassured that the earth was still flat, he got out of bed and dragged fifty five pounds of lazy flesh to the patio doors. “Come on princess, time for you to take a crap.” An offended Brandy shambled behind Cliff to the closed doors. She stopped, looked at him, and with a wrinkled scowl made her thoughts clear. “Well Sherlock, are you going to open them or should I take a shit right here?” Cliff opened the doors and Brandy meandered over to her dump spot. From behind her a voice delivered a warning. “I’m going to get even with you… soon…” True to his word, a little while later Cliff hosed Brandy’s rear. “Hey, blame yourself. You’ve been rubbing your ass and cunt on the shag rugs.  I don’t care how good it makes you feel. This isn’t our home. There are house rules and we have to obey them.” Standing in the hallway out of sight Rick overheard Cliff and ruefully considered the implications of his words. “Not their home… They have to obey… Fuck, I have to fix this.” He entered the living room with a determined step, handed Cliff a familiar burnt orange t-shirt, and told him to finish feeding Brandy and to go wash up.</p><p>Cliff stared at the t-shirt. Last night it had been the magical bridle that had lured Rick to him. Now, in broad daylight, it had turned into a limp and wrinkled piece of smelly cloth. “What am I supposed to do with this? I wore it last night. It stinks. It’s still damp with sweat. Jesus partner, you gummed on it half the night!” Rick gave Cliff a nervous smile… “For me partner. Wear it for me. Please?” His golden man muttered, “Why fucking bother washing if I have to put this shit back on?”  Cliff turned and made his way to the bathroom. “Think of it this way partner. If you wear a dirty t-shirt you don’t have to put on BVDs!” Rick went to the phone to make a call...</p><p>Cliff drove Rick to 635 Mateo Street; an address in an area of town he had once frequented on a daily basis.  The nondescript LA moderne style building he parked in front of had an array of business plaques affixed to its entrance. Further down the street were fenced-in lots and neglected buildings. It was clear that this area was destined for redevelopment. Rick went through the building’s glass doors, studied its directory, found the office he was looking for and made his way to a door in the back of the building. Although Cliff was relieved that he wasn’t involved in whatever Rick was up to, he was pissed that he hadn’t been clued in on whatever was going down. “Jealousy is a bitch man, jealousy. I can’t believe I’m fucking jealous.” Since last night’s events, his possessive instincts had kicked into high gear, and with focused intent.</p><p>Cliff leaned against the car’s hood. The blazing sun had forced everyone off the streets and all about him the sidewalk rippled with the afternoon heat.  This, coupled with the dilapidated state of the area, suggested to him nothing less than an abandoned stage set for an end of the world movie.  There was nothing around him to serve as a diversion from the edginess he had been feeling since the morning. Last night he had some kind of sex with Rick. How to nurture what that had set in motion (sex?) stumped him.</p><p>Cliff knew that while in his personal life he was Sean Connery in bed, afterwards, once the afterglow faded, he acted towards his partner with the suavity of Jerry Lewis. Except during his marriage, he had no experience (or so he thought) with intimacy, and considering how that attempt had turned out, he was not very hopeful for the success of another try at it. Last night his response to Rick’s passion had been an uneasy combination of tenderness and lust. He had been glib and had made promises to Rick, and to himself, that he knew he could likely, probably, mostly, keep. This morning he had without hesitation offered to pull off a physical act he had never performed. A question fluttered in the waves of hot air enveloping him. “Can I make love to Rick? Fuck… there’s that word… and I just said another one… ” He wanted the answer to be, “Yes, I can,” but he wasn’t sure. If he couldn’t, knowing that the emotional numbness he had nurtured most of his life would help him overcome his aversion to reciprocating Rick’s physical intimacy gave him the hope  that he could at least fake it. The answer would then be, “Yes, I can… take care of him in every way.“ If the answer was “No,” then...  “Crap, have I fucked up? Should I have just kept things as they were and let the nightly licking and sucking sessions continue? Did I trade my partner for a blow job?” he mumbled.</p><p>Cliff got into the car, unbuttoned his yellow Hawaiian shirt, and turned on the air conditioning. He smoked, waited, tried to figure out how to include the care and feeding of his baby’s newfound and extreme horniness into his household chores, and, without success struggled to ignore his memories of his surroundings.  After a while those memories, awakened by heat and blight, became impossible for him to ignore. Getting out of the car and searching among the characterless buildings, he found what he was looking for- a ruined gas station. All of its windows were broken and the business’ sign had faded and been sun bleached to near white. But, even so, even though the awning over the gas pumps had collapsed and the garage doors were off their tracks, in his mind’s eye he could see in its usual spot in the garage’s parking lot an all too familiar structure- a dirty white trailer. This is where his life in LA had started- Scotty Bower’s gas station. The myriad memories overwhelmed him. They connected, coalesced, and in his mind the rushes of an LA biopic began to play…</p><p>In ’54, the Army Special Forces cashiered out a First Lieutenant and war hero named Cliff Booth; his sole possession a small medal. His skill set consisted of the ability to kill ruthlessly, efficiently, quickly, and without any remorse. He had been taught to turn even the most benign object into a deadly weapon. He had no family (that he wanted), no goals, no ambition, and enough money to last for a month. The only personal emptiness he wanted to regularly fill up was located in his stomach. The only road sign to the future that he had was a postcard from a jerk off Coast Guard buddy. All it said was, “Come to LA.” Below that curt message were an address and a phone number. Never one to turn down an invitation from this bubble butted buddy, Cliff hitched from Monterey to LA. In the end, he found himself staring at a run-of-the-mill gas station. The station’s manager, he assumed, kept stepping out of his office to answer and make calls at the phone booth next to the garage’s toilet. Each time afterwards, he signaled to a different young man or woman loitering about in the parking lot to come to him to receive a slip of paper. They and the slip of paper would then disappear…</p><p>Cliff entered the station’s office. The manager looked up and saw a business opportunity. “Who are you soldier?” Cliff chuckled. “Does it show that much? Name’s Cliff Booth.  I’m looking for Bob Moseley. He wrote to me to look him up and sent me this address and phone number.” The man looked at the postcard Cliff had placed on the desk. “The address is for this gas station and the number is for the phone booth outside. Two months ago Bob went off with Henry Willson to greener pastures.” Cliff exhaled. “Do you know how I can get in touch with him?” While mulling how to answer Cliff, the manager noticed through the office’s windows a well groomed elderly man staring intently at the blonde ex-soldier. He stood up, faced Cliff and shook his hand. “Sorry soldier... I’m Scotty Bowers. Looking for work? Maybe got a job for you. Pays real well. All you got to do is be pleasant. You might even really enjoy it.”</p><p>Cliff’s eyes narrowed. “How pleasant do I have to be?” Scotty took a deep breath. “There’s a guy outside giving you the once over. His name is Navarro, used to be a famous actor in silent movies. He likes the company of good looking young guys. I’d say you’re an eleven in his personal looks and body scale.  All you gotta do is go with him to the trailer out there and I know for a fact, that if you let him, he’ll make you feel real good. To someone new like you he’ll pay forty dollars; maybe more if your dong is as spectacular as your face and shape. I don’t take a cut. It’s all yours.” Cliff was suspicious. “What do you get out of it?” Scotty made a slight gesture with his head towards the old actor. “Men like him are powerful and have money. Through them I make connections. I cater and bartend very special dinners and parties for them. I get protection. Believe me; I get a lot out of it. You would too if you take up my offer.”</p><p>Cliff pretended to mull it over even though he had decided to take the job as soon as he had heard “forty dollars.” As far as he was concerned the gender of the mouth or the hole that his cock was pointing at was irrelevant. He extended his hand, “You’ve got a new guy.” Scotty shook it, told Cliff to wait a minute and went out to greet the actor. After a short conversation with him Scotty made a hand signal to Cliff to come out to join them. “Ramon, this is Cliff. Cliff, this is Ramon. You two are going to have a great time. Trailer’s ready.”</p><p>Cliff started for the trailer with the man following him. When he got to the door, the Midwest Missouri manners that had been literally pounded into him automatically took over. He opened the door and gestured. “After you, sir.” The actor was startled but quickly recovered. He smiled. “Thank you,” he said and stepped in. After Cliff closed the door he faced the man and waited for Ramon to make the first move. The man looked at Cliff. “Please remove all of your clothing. If anything that I do offends you please let me know. I only want you to enjoy yourself.” It was Cliff’s turn to be startled. “Never met an actor before; much less a famous one. Scotty said you were hot stuff.” The actor gave him a sad smile. “Yes, as you say hot stuff… once...  I like you Cliff. You are a sweet young man.  If you’ll let me I’ll give you a hot time.” The color rose in Cliff’s cheeks. The dynamic of the situation rattled him. He had always been in charge, never been the junior partner, in a sexual encounter. Settling his face into his crooked half smile mask, he cockily replied, “Never said no to a hot time,” and took off his clothing. He stood naked, unmoving, and let the man take a good look at what he had bought. “Cliff, you are magnificent. You have the face of an angel, the body of a satyr, and the cock of a bull.” Cliff sure knew what a bull was but he had no idea what the fuck a satyr was. He figured it was a compliment. “Man, actors sure speak funny,” he considered.</p><p>When the man began to shakily kneel in front of him, Cliff immediately lifted him up. His eyes fell on the lone chair in the trailer and he helped the man sit on it. He stepped between the actor’s legs and imagined scenes that got him hard. He didn’t know why, but it had become really important to him that this man have a “hot time.” The actor stared at Cliff’s swelling cock for a long while. Then, he put a hand to his mouth, lowered it, and swallowed the cock to the root. Cliff jumped so high he almost hit the trailer’s roof. The man had taken out his dentures!</p><p>Cliff did not expect what was lying in wait for his cock in the hot saliva covered cavern that formed the man’s mouth and throat. A raspy tongue sandpapered his cock’s knob until it was so sensitive that its eye began to weep precum. The plum sized head found no resistance when it began to poke around the back of the throat that sheathed it. It was clear to Cliff that this man was the world’s greatest cocksucker; and that when it came to sex, he had a lot to learn. Finally convinced that he would not injure the man, he took the actor’s head in his hands and repeatedly plunged his cock to the root down the slippery vise that squeezed it. The man hummed in pleasure and swallowed as the air was pistoned in out of his lungs.  When Cliff came, every jet of his cum disappeared down the throat that milked him. The actor kept pumping and licking the cock until its growing soreness became too much for Cliff to bear. The “hot time” ended.  Cliff went to the bathroom to clean up and when he returned to the room he found himself alone; save for a fifty dollar bill lying on the chair.</p><p>Cliff inspected the trailer. It was of comfortable size with a kitchenette, running water, a bathroom with toiletries and soap, a bed, and little furniture with the exception of a chair and several full length mirrors that were strategically propped against the walls.  A large tube of K-Y jelly, a jar of condoms, and a stack of clean towels and sheets were placed on a coffee table set beside a bed. Next to the sheets was a sign that read, “Please clean up after yourself.” Whether the sign was meant for the seller or for the buyer he had no idea. Cliff thought the trailer would be a passable place to live in. When Scotty liquidated his business, in gratitude he sold the trailer to Cliff for a dollar. He would go on to live in it for almost twelve years…</p><p>Cliff’s clientele grew quickly as word of his looks and the length and caliber of his equipment spread. He preferred old guys as clients. Many were faded elderly actors who still retained a semblance of their once good looks. They offered courtesy, gratitude, generosity, and as he had found out at the start of his new career, mind blowing sex. Many a man slowly and carefully stepped out of that trailer with a sore throat and maybe feeling a draft where none should have existed. When Scotty decided that he could be trusted, he asked Cliff to help out at private functions.</p><p>Cliff began to meet people and make contacts. At parties he found studio journeymen to be accessible; while the actors and stars that feared any publicity were less trusting and more standoffish. Even so, those firmament dwellers sometimes let their hair down. He laughed and hooted to see a naked Rock Hudson and George Nader lip synch to an old song, “Sisters.” If Nick Adams showed up at a party, he would spend the night lying on his stomach by the pool (there was always a pool); his ass lubed and, for all intents and purposes, with a flag planted in it signaling, “Welcome producers and agents. Wipe your feet and step in.” From the start, it had been clear to Cliff how hard it was to be noticed in this crowd. Then, at one party Tab Hunter had insisted that Cliff stir a mixed drink with his hardon. Clifton Webb in his most butt-sucking voice pronounced the result to be delicious and sensual. A new and very popular bar tool was so born; as was the legend of Cliff’s mojo.</p><p>In a short while the life of a stud and party doll began to weary Cliff. Besides, all around him he could see that in LA freshness was of very limited duration. He needed another profession. So, he kept his ear to the ground and searched among his new social network for someone who could help him break into the studio system. Then, he connected with the one man who would be his way through the studio gates- Randy Miller.</p><p>Cliff quickly grew adept at figuring out which customers would be demanding. But he could still be startled by the type of man who sought his services.  In contrast to most of his clients, Randy Miller was about Rick’s age, handsome, well built, athletic, with thick shoulder length dark brown hair, and bluer than blue eyes. The first time that Cliff stepped into the trailer and saw the guy naked, sitting on the edge of the bed and fluffing up a plump cock, he couldn’t figure out why a guy who looked and was hung like that needed to pay for any kind of sex. Then, he discovered what the man needed on a regular basis.</p><p>On Wednesday afternoons, Randy stepped into the trailer.  Waiting for him would be a naked and hard Cliff and a dressed and blindfolded woman of a specific type- large breasted, unshaved and not groomed in all the right spots, and strong, almost severe, features. The woman would be on all fours on the bed with her back arched and her head down on the bed, legs spread wide open, skirts pulled over her head (no underwear), and with her rear facing towards the trailer’s door. Randy always then kneeled on the edge of the bed behind the woman and started to lick her genitals. When Randy arched his back and spread his legs open, it was Cliff’s signal to perform. He would step up and ram his, as requested, barely lubed cock (no condom) into Randy’s ass. Using handfuls of Randy’s hair for purchase, Cliff rode the man with the intensity required to fuck him into oblivion.</p><p>After his orgasm, Randy promptly turned around and sucked/cleaned Cliff’s cock until Cliff popped his nut. The slurping sounds that the man made reminded him of a cat enjoying a dish of cream.  He could never figure out how anyone would like the taste of cum mixed with lube and funky ass crud.  Randy then dressed, paid Cliff, and stepped out of the trailer into LA’s bright sunshine. The woman took the sound of the trailer door closing as her cue to get up, wipe herself, pull her skirt down, take off her blindfold, and with a look of longing at Cliff’s cock, leave. From the moment that Randy had stepped into the trailer until the end of his session, no one ever said a word.</p><p>Over time the two men settled into their sexual roles and eventually the necessity for a woman came to an end; and Randy’s reserve slowly diminished.  The day he revealed that he worked as a stunt manager for the studios was the day Cliff let out a silent whooping yell.  Cliff never forgot what it eventually took to get this man to help him…</p><p>As is said, “One hand washes the other.” Randy hinted of his desire to experience some extreme sexual acts, and Cliff of his desire to become a stuntman. When Randy implied that a mutually beneficial arrangement was possible, Cliff agreed to up his sexual repertoire. The next time Randy and Cliff met, the man found a bar spreading his legs painfully open, and thanks to some rope attached to hooks on the trailer’s ceiling, with his exposed and very surprised hole at the level of Cliff’s groin.  The future stunt man then performed every abusive act that Randy screamed out on the flesh that was on show in front of him. Randy whimpered and whined while his legs and feet flexed in reflexive spasms. He began to beg and scream for Cliff to rip him open, to tear him in half, to use him, to “fuck his bitch.” Aroused by Randy’s pain kinks, submissiveness and the realization that he probably could make the man do anything, Cliff was driven to surpass himself. Halfway through the session he slapped the by then semi-conscious Randy until the man focused and commanded, “Look at me you cunt! You said it. You’re my bitch.” Driven by an appetite for humiliation and subjugation that he had long suppressed and serenaded by the man’s groans of pain and carnal pleasure, Cliff continued to fulfill Rick’s sexual fantasies with relentless ferocity…</p><p>It was to be the last time that Cliff serviced Randy. It was, for the sake of Randy’s self-esteem, for the best. His last session with Cliff had destroyed whatever illusion he had that once a week they engaged in masculine roughhousing.  It was one thing for a macho man to get drunk and fool around with another man and a woman. It was another to find out that what he really wanted was to be a cock slut in heat, bent over and with back arched, wriggling his poontang, trying to attract his rutting owner.</p><p>True to his word, a very, very sore and damaged Randy wrangled a tryout for Cliff at the studio. As a stuntman, he proved to be a natural. He enjoyed riding and crashing cars and motorcycles. Falling out of windows, being set on fire and falling down stairs gave him a hard on.  Riding and knowing how to treat horses came as second nature to him. When directors realized that he considered no stunt too dangerous to perform, he quickly became their favorite; while other studio daredevils began to wonder if he had a death wish. His skill and his soiled history with many of his co-workers (none of whom acknowledged their prior association with him) assured Cliff a swift rise in the ranks of stuntmen. In a short time he had a secure occupation that fed him, put cash in his pocket, and provided him with opportunities to satisfy his hankering for danger and- he was beginning to realize- for oblivion.  In a few years it also allowed him to purchase a companion; Brandy, a beautiful bitch pit bull named in honor of his “benefactor,” his “B(itch) Randy.”</p><p>At the studio Randy’s path often crossed Cliff’s. They never spoke except on professional matters. It became clear to Cliff why Randy needed extreme action once he met the man’s wife; “Brass Balls” Janet Miller- universally hated stunt coordinator and vicious whore. The grips had a betting pool on whether she put on her jock strap under or over her pantyhose. A pain junkie dominatrix if there ever was one, she delighted in denigrating and reaming Cliff at shoots; leading a select subset of studio employees to bet on whether she knew of Cliff’s history with her husband. All present when she directed one of her rages at Cliff were amazed at how well he took them. Leaning against a wall, legs crossed, arms folded and crooked half smile on his face, Cliff would patiently wait for her voice to give out while memories of a naked Randy howling his name, begging to be used as a lubed meat sock, commanded his attention. Later on he found out that Randy was housing one of Henry Willson’s stud farm acting wannabes in a Venice apartment. The man wasn’t Cliff; but his elephant sized equipment met Randy’s basic needs. Even so, Randy could get fisted only on his stomach. That way the face that he always envisioned was Cliff’s.</p><p>Cliff was roused from his unreeling memories by Rick’s voice and gesturing. He followed Rick into the office building and they walked to a dark room illuminated by a single desk lamp. It was the workplace of Joseph Silverman, paralegal and bonded accountant. Rick gestured to the heavyset owlish man sitting behind the desk that occupied most of the room. He was wearing Coke bottle glasses and a too tight shirt. He reminded Cliff of one of his ex-clients- doing him had been like fucking melting Jell-O.  For all he knew, he might be that man. Rick indicated the sole chair. “Cliff, sit down. This is Joseph Silverman. He does a lot of work for the studio and is the best fixer in the business.  Got me out of a lot of drunk driving charges. He’s put together some papers you need to sign.” Without hesitation, Cliff took the pen the accountant was holding and mechanically signed a sizeable pile of paper in all the places the accountant pointed to. Afterwards, the round little man turned to Rick. “Mr. Dalton, I repeat what I told you on the telephone this morning. I strongly recommend that you carefully reconsider your actions and the consequences thereof.” Rick shook his head from side to side.  Silverman then turned to Cliff. “Mr. Booth, are you fully cognizant of what you have signed?” Cliff’s puzzled expression and loopy grin made the man rephrase his question, “Mr. Booth, you have signed several legally binding documents. Do you understand what you have signed?” Cliff shook his head from side to side. The accountant sighed. “Mr. Booth, my client, Mr. Rick Dalton has just given you power of attorney over his affairs. He has made you his health proxy; charging you to be the agent for all medical decisions should he be physically or mentally impaired or both. Moreover, he has given you access to all of his financial assets, not limited to his liquid holdings. In addition, he has conjoined his property, tangible and intangible, to yours. Should he die you will be executor of his will and sole beneficiary. Today I will procure two witnesses to the execution of these documents and tomorrow I will register them and your signature with all concerned parties. Please provide me with four passport photos of yourself; two for purposes of certifying your identity and two for the passport I will procure for you.” Cliff’s response was, “What?” The actuary sighed; it was going to be a long day...</p><p>The more Silverman talked, the more Cliff’s understanding of what he had just agreed to increased; and so did his irritation and, yes, anger. Being an actor, Rick could not resist the dramatic gesture, and too many scripts had given him access to too many ways of setting a trap. With a few pieces of paper and a handful of Cliff’s signature he had given a clueless Cliff physical control- ownership- over their world.  Rick stood unmoving in the shadows, a silent witness to the goings on. He kept his face obscured, turned aside, fearful that Cliff would rip the papers up.  The golden man shifted in his chair and looked at Rick. In the shadows, all that Cliff could see were his kitten’s eyes illuminated by a slash of jaundiced light. He thought for a second that they were shimmering and glowing- a green/yellow translucent snare. He needed answers before allowing himself to be forever yoked. “Why do you want to do this?” Rick took a deep breath and dived into his prepared script.</p><p>“What’s left of my family is money hungry shit and you are my close and loyal friend. Who else to name as my proxy? You have worked for me for eleven years and are responsible for my safety and maintaining my physical environment and my transportation. You need access to funds to continue to do so if I am incapacitated. I don’t want to leave my relatives anything and this is a way to bypass them. Later on, we can decide to whom you, as executor, distribute my property if I so desire. This is a quick and bulletproof way to protect my health and my intentions.” He exhaled; relieved that his line reading had gone well.</p><p>Cliff stared into Rick’s now blue eyes. “How much time did he spend writing that scene? Not much. He’d called this guy in the morning... An hour or two at most… Didn’t sound like him. Fucking smart kitten.” Cliff reflected. “He tells me in code he’s doing this because he thinks he needs to be propped up by a keeper, that no one cares for him but me, that I own all that he possesses; and at the same time gives Silverman legitimate reasons for his actions. If anyone complains about the will Silverman can say that he, and those two witnesses (whoever the shit he digs up), had heard Rick say what he wanted.” Sighing was becoming a regular thing. “Okay. I guess it’s my fucking turn.”</p><p>Cliff knew he had to speak precisely.  “I don’t have any assets except for my rear end and the only property I hold is Brandy.” Mr. Silverman interjected. “Brandy? Who is Brandy? Your daughter?” Cliff brusquely replied. “Yeah, me and Rick each put in a nickel and out came a dime piece.... I want you to make one of those health proxy things for me naming Rick and another paper giving him my fucking property and holdings, whatever they are or going to be. Whatever... I figure you can forge my signature and Rick’s without trouble. Those two witnesses can testify.” Mr. Silverman gave Cliff a sly look and in a not too indignant voice proclaimed. “Mr. Booth! I’m bonded.” Cliff stood up. “Fine, you’re bonded, whatever the fuck that means. Shit... Now, we have to get out of here. I have to have a fucking passport picture taken.”</p><p>Two drained men walked side by side out of 635 Mateo Street and made their way to a car. Cliff was very quiet and his usual half smile was nowhere to be seen. He found it hard to smile with a yoke around his neck.  Rick was experiencing the melancholy that in many actors surfaces after a successful performance. When the car began to move, Rick blurted out, “Partner, why did you sign the papers without looking at them?” The golden man clutched the steering wheel. “Because I figured you would never ask me to do anything that could hurt me! Because I figured I was signing some fucking driver’s license shit or job shit! Because you wanted me, no, told me to sign them!” Rick winced. “Partner, you think I would ever hurt you?” Cliff glanced at Rick and his voice became even louder. “I don’t fucking know what you will do Rick.” Cliff regretted his outburst as soon as he uttered it. Rick became very still and quiet. Then, in a barely audible whisper, he spoke. “Now I’m Rick? What happened to bunny, to kitten?... You’re the only person I have ever been able to count on…  Now, I don’t know why, you want to let me use you…  Partner, last night I didn’t expect anything in return…”</p><p>Exasperated, Cliff stopped the car on a quiet street. He took off his sunglasses and discreetly put a hand on Rick’s knee. “Partner… Don’t you fucking think that way. I’m sorry about what I said. Shit, if my nads had dropped a year earlier I could have been your very horny father and what’s between us would be even more fucked up than it is already.” Of course, Rick began to sniffle. Cliff became alarmed. “What’s wrong kitten? What did I say wrong? Come on. Don’t you fucking believe me?”  Rick looked straight at Cliff, smiled, and replied, “I believe you.” Rick shrugged. Cliff mimicked beating his head against the steering wheel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, kitten. I’m gonna go nuts… and don’t you ever call me daddy! When I’m screwing up you cry. When I’m doing it up right you cry.  Wave a flag. Okay? No more of this shit. You’re not using me. I want to go to bed with you. I want wake up with you. I want you to suck my cock! I feel good when I’m taking care of you. You’re as much of a man as I am. Fuck... I want to make you feel good too… and don’t give me that shit that it’s enough for you just to get me to pop my nut.  It’s only that it’s hard for me you being a… guy… You don’t know what a foul-up I am, what I’ve done…” Full of sudden purpose and a touch of self destructive intention, he let go of Rick and sat upright. “But I can take care of that.”</p><p>They began the long ride to the Valley; to the Van Nuys DriveIn Theatre and the trailer that sat overlooking it. Cliff’s trailer… Scotty Bower’s trailer… Rick sat quietly and asked no questions about their destination. In his mind he kept repeating, “Foul-up… he thinks he’s a loser… how the hell could this guy think he’s a loser?” After a while, quiet lost out. “I’ve never told you how I got into the business… I was born in Hollywood. Never knew my father. My mother knew him for probably one night- if that long. She was greedy and star struck and I was a very cute baby, so… Yeah. I did ads for powder, lotion, diapers… Then, I began to push every fucking thing a kid doesn’t really need. I was a quick learner and took direction well. When I was a little older, I began to get bit parts in movies. As time passed, the parts got bigger and my mother began to get big checks from the studios. From the beginning she worked me to the bone. Never had any rest… Never had much time for school. She put me down every day in any way she could. Took all of the credit. Convinced me that I was stupid. I was eight! When I became a teenager, juvenile parts became scarce. I had started to stutter. My career dried up. For a while ma and I lived on the money I had earned but she had expensive tastes. One day I woke up to find she had cleared out and left me with a bank balance of one hundred bucks. Bitch. She’s dead… I loved her.” He paused for a minute and wiped his eyes. “By then I knew the business inside out and I had an SAG union card. I had contacts and they got me into the Local 80 Craft’s Union. I volunteered for every shit job. If a shoot was an extra short, good ol’ Rick was always there to save the day. Saved my money and got a speech therapist to help me control my stutter. Soon I was getting bit parts in short films. When the LA TV business took off I started auditioning for TV series... See, the TV people didn’t know my history as a kid actor, so they didn’t think of me as a has-been loser. After I don’t know how many fucking rejections, walk-ons, bit parts, and supporting roles, I landed the lead in ‘Bounty Law.’ The day I met you was my first day working on set and on that first day I became somebody... because of you.” Rick hesitated, fag talk was forbidden.</p><p>Cliff didn’t say a word. How could he? They had never spoken about their lives before “Bounty Law,” never. Perhaps because neither had a life before then. Willfully misinterpreting the reason for Rick’s monologue, a thought entered his mind. “Those papers… That scene we played out a few hours ago… Had kitten been planning it since he convinced me to move in?  Were all those nights of cuddling up to me just to soften me up so that I would agree to be his full time minder? Fuck.  I almost convinced myself this shit was going to work out. Now everything is turning into crap; with both our help.” His throat tightened. He was losing what was left of his detachment and his half smile was turning into a grimace. He drove on, jittery, confused and angry. His resolve to do what he planned was propped up by hope that he could redirect the trajectory of their relationship.</p><p>Rick’s expression as he walked into the trailer and looked around gave Cliff second thoughts about his plan. Rick whistled (a cliché of a gesture, but he was too startled to think of anything else). “Jesus partner... I had no idea… If I’d known I would have moved Brandy out of here years ago.” The trailer’s interior was illuminated by light reflecting off a full length mirror propped in a corner. Debris was strewn about the room and what he could see of the floor did not bear scrutiny. What passed for a kitchen held stacks of dirty dishes. Rick had never asked Cliff about his place. Now he knew that for years the man had lived in squalor. All was melancholy except for the sunlit dust motes floating in the air- fireflies guarding the odds and ends of an unlived life. The golden man stood in the trailer’s door and blocked the sunshine. A light filled room was not a suitable setting for the moment at hand.  The room darkened and Cliff was transformed into a shadow with a gold halo. He spoke…</p><p>“I come from Holy Rollers. In my family you are expected to obey, work hard, keep your dick limp, and go to church every Sunday. If you didn’t, you got a beating. I got a lot of beatings. The only person I hated more than my parents was the preacher. That mother fucking self righteous son of a bitch kept telling my folks that I was bad; that I was the devil’s own… I lived in a crap Bible movie… All that and it came to pass… sinned in the sight of God… for LO you will be judged… shit! When I was fifteen I knew I had to clear out, to go somewhere, anywhere. I got on my bike and took off.”  Cliff snorted. “Left the preacher a goodbye present- a son that needed daily fucking and a pregnant daughter… served the asshole right. I joined the army and ended up in Special Forces. I came to LA when I got bored of fighting… and killing…”</p><p>“Bored with killing?”  Rick’s first impulse was to hold the man; but he held back, for Cliff had paused his story; a tip-off that the rest of this tale was one really hard tell. Rick stood quietly and waited. Eventually Cliff resumed his account. He explicitly detailed his life from the day he left the military up to the day he first met Rick. When he was finished Cliff stood still, readying himself for whatever was to come, silently hoping for… what? “So, you’re telling me that you’ve always been a hard son of a bitch with a foot wide streak of mean, you’ll never feel much of anything, you will always be in charge when it comes to fucking, and you’re a stud who gets but can never give.” Rick’s summation surprised and saddened Cliff. It was exactly how he saw himself.</p><p>Rick didn’t say more. He just stood looking at Cliff… expecting… waiting…   Cliff chanced it. Maybe a little of good ol’ boy drawl might help. He cleared his throat. “Well honey, them’s the facts, except they ain’t never been tru when it comes to me and you.”  Rick smiled. “Sorry partner… I was distracted and didn’t hear what you said… Care to repeat it or should we just ignore it?” Rick took one last look around at what had been Cliff’s life and walked to the door. There he was stopped by an arm barring his way. Cliff locked his eyes with Rick’s. “They say I killed my wife.” A long silence followed. Rick raised his hand to his golden man’s face. He softly traced out what he had taken to calling Cliff’s devil angel goatee. He kept repeating the motion over and over again. When the touches extended to Cliff’s lips, the stunt man began to gently kiss and lick the source of his growing heat. A sudden impulse to suck the caressing fingers was checked when Rick motioned in the direction of the full length mirror. “We’ve got to get at least one of those for the bedroom… maybe one for the pool by the bench… waterproof…” Nothing more needed to be said.  “I guess I can’t burn this shithole down but I’m never coming back here again.” Cliff led them out the trailer door.</p><p>They walked back to the car and stood there, unsure of what to do next. Improvisation had never been Rick’s forte, but he sighed loudly and delivered what he thought was a perfect ice breaker. “Crap… Fucking is easy but what comes afterwards is a bitch… How did we get here?” If nothing else, Rick was persistent. “Well let’s see… You’ve spent years crying on my shoulder… A long while ago you started to need me to sit with you until you fell asleep… Next, I became a fucking expert on washing you and getting your clothes on and off… Weeks ago you started to lick my neck… Then you started sniffing and sucking my pits…” Cliff pulled his shirt open and jauntily pointed towards his chest. “I put this t-shirt in your mouth and got you to start eating my meat… See where this is going partner?” Rick gulped. His eyes fixed on the burnt orange t-shirt that was visible under Cliff’s shirt. “I did all that just to get you to wear an orange t-shirt?” Cliff laughed and caressed Rick’s neck. “Let’s go. Brandy must be hungry as shit. Shit! She might be eating shit.” The look on kitten’s face made him suspicions. “Actually partner, I slipped her an extra can of food before we left this morning…”  Great minds think alike. “So did I partner, so did I.”</p><p>In the car Rick surprised Cliff by lying on the front seat. He placed his head on Cliff’s denim covered lap and closed his eyes. “Tired kitten?” Rick rolled his head on the hard thigh that supported it. “No, hungry… thirsty...” Lying there, feeling secure and cared for, Rick dozed and daydreamed; until he realized he could indulge in one of those fantasies…</p><p>A hand clumsily began to fumble with Cliff’s jeans while another made like his crotch bulge was holding squishy Play-Doh.  Zipper conquered, Rick inhaled the intense crotch funk that he had released and grazed on the damp pubic hair framed by the open zipper.  How doing so could make him feel so calm and safe had been at first a puzzle. Now he realized that the reason it did wasn’t what he was doing as much as whom he was doing it to. In fact, the thought of touching another man but Cliff repelled him. A few miles on, he pulled out with great difficulty- judging by Cliff’s ow’s, shits, careful, and jeez’s- his personal property from where Cliff had hidden it.  It would have taken more work if Cliff hadn’t acquiesced this morning to his request to not wear BVDs. He turned to the bloated cock that faced him and scrutinized the object of his desire. Its thick shaft was shorter than he remembered from this morning but he figured that was because Cliff was now folded into a sitting position. Pink and fat and made of glossy flesh, its crown wore a heavy skirt of dusky foreskin. A drop of clear liquid seeped from the reddish slit that capped it. Cliff began to squirm; signaling to Rick that it was time to move on or this milking session would end before it got started. He turned his attention to nuzzling the space between the cock and the balls. He slobbered over and sucked the tightening ballsack. He gently tugged the hairs of the pungent taint with his teeth and wedged his tongue into that sweaty burl. “Shit, you taste so good.” Rick reached into his pants and masturbated while he literally ate his fill. “Common kitten, don’t chew, it’s not beef stew.” Rick nursed until the sounds and taste of Cliff in climax hinted that he too should spew a load; but he stubbornly delayed his own orgasm, and started laving Cliff. When the noises from his golden man made became ones of distress- Rick had yet to experience how truly sensitive a man’s cock could get after cuming- he released Cliff at the same time that he shot a long rope of semen over Cliff’s shirt …</p><p>Rick lay loose and sated with the smell of spent sex flesh pouring over his face. His tongue rolled the slippery clotting sap he had sucked out of Cliff around in his mouth. The acrid aftertaste of Cliff’s milk didn’t faze him. In fact, he savored its bitter flavor; proof that he was an all consuming glutton when it came to all things Cliff. Rick smiled. He was never going to get used to afterglow. He didn’t want to either. As he cupped Cliff’s balls a thought occurred to him and he began to snigger. Cliff looked down. “Partner, what’s so funny about my basket?” Rick looked up. “You remember that interview where we screwed around with that guy’s head and told him you handle my load? Well… If you handle my load… I swallow yours.” Rick clamped his face down and tried to stifle his laughter. His face turned bright red and his cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk’s from the effort, but it was of no use. An explosion of coughing and sneezing punctuated his failure and Rick found himself with a snot covered chin. He turned his face and rubbed it clean on the thigh crease of Cliff’s pant leg.  Looking down, Cliff murmured, “Boundaries… We have no boundaries.”   Rick would have started laughing again had he not turned his attention to squeezing out the sweat that soaked his golden man’s orange t-shirt.</p><p>In comparison to what he foresaw as his future list of stunts a very mellow post-orgasm Cliff considered this one, driving home without crashing while his crazed snotty kitten scratched and munched on his lunch box, uneventful. When they arrived an excited Brandy greeted them and promptly went to Rick’s side to tug at his pant leg. “Hungry girl? Well, I’ve been eating so it’s only fair that you do too.” Cliff grumbled, “I’m the one that has the meat but she goes to you…” Rick felt one smart ass remark deserved another. “Yeah, but she likes her meat ground up… Volunteering some?” Cliff winced, “Partner, since last night you’ve developed a vicious streak. Here I thought I was being a good influence on you.” Having delivered his volley, he shut his mouth and obediently followed Rick into the house.</p><p>“What are you talking about? Thinking that any thing you do is a good influence on me is like, like figuring a shit flame thrower can put out a fire.” Cliff cocked his head and gave Rick a stern look. With a twinkle in his eye he replied. “What’s with the frigging flame thrower?... You don’t need a lighter.  You’ve only smoked a couple of cigarettes all day. Also, you’re not drunk, you’ve stopped stuttering, and you’ve haven’t cried- much- since this morning.” After mulling over this revelation, Rick came to the conclusion that only one answer was possible.  “Yeah, well, it’s hard for me to smoke and to stutter with a cock shoved into my mouth. As for drinking… can’t… for the same reason. ” Cliff laughed a real gut busting laugh. His smile was a wide shit eating one that transformed his face. The golden man took kitten’s face in his hands. “Let’s clean up… What about the crying? Not sad?”  Immediately and on cue, tears flowed. Without hesitation Cliff began to cover his kitten’s eyes and lips with soft licks and gentle nips and kisses. He could swear that he tasted a whiskey sour… It would take some time, probably a lifetime, for them to make up for eleven years of foreplay…</p><p>By late afternoon the garden bench by the pool had resumed its task of turning Cliff’s ass into a waffle. He sat there naked but for sunglasses, orange t-shirt, and a coating of coconut oil. Bombed out of his mind, smoking, legs open and one foot on the bench’s seat, he restlessly waited for Rick’s return. Earlier, kiitten had been sitting on the floor between his legs, occupied with keeping level a pitcher full of margueritas, when without warning he had dunked Cliff’s dangling junk into the pitcher and slurped the salty/sweet liquid that then coated it. To say that Cliff had been startled is an understatement. Suddenly, too many buried memories of parties, of pools, of laughing naked men stirring their drinks with his cock, had surfaced. Knowing Rick as he did, if not distracted, the kitten would keep repeating his actions until there was no more marguerita. Cliff had not been prepared to endure his past for that long. Not today. His only recourse then, helping Rick to polish off the pitcher as quickly as possible, had left him unsettled and queasy. To his dismay, Rick was now inside the house mixing up another pitcher.</p><p>The heat, the nausea, the churning stomach, the sun shining directly into his face, Cliff was suffocating. He had to do something. He got up, walked over to a sling beach chair and moved it so it was in shadow and faced opposite the sun. He took off his t-shirt and threw it against the wall of the house. Brandy, who had been resting nearby in the home’s shadow, shuffled to it, sniffed, put her head on it and lay down. “Shit, you too… what the fuck is it about that rag?” Now dressed in a pair of sunglasses and a slick sheen, Cliff sat back on the chair and planted his feet firmly on the ground. He kept trying to center himself. He never remembered feeling like this, panicky and sick. He tried to control his breathing; to push the past out of his mind. “Think of the kitten… think of nothing else… you’re nothing… the kitten is everything… get a grip.”  Slowly, his breathing became more even, his stomach calmed down, his mind regular. “Got to get the kitten under control… Whatever the fuck is going on in his mind, he’s got to calm down… Shit… there’s only one thing he’s drooling for…” Cliff looked down on his cock. “Sorry buddy… let’s hope this doesn’t last too long… you’ve been through worse… for a lot less.”</p><p>When Rick stepped out on the patio Cliff spread his legs and cupped the junk he had been leisurely massaging, and gestured for Rick to join him. “Come here kitten… sit in my lap… You don’t want it to get sunburn… you’re having too much fun…” Although annoyed that Cliff’s primary obsessions, his “belly-jelly,” man “boobs” and what Cliff had officially christened as his “cushy cunt,” nurtured his suppressed negative body image, Rick promptly went to comply. As Cliff had hoped, he put the marguerita pitcher down and sat. Cliff roughly caressed what the golden man hoped were budding love handles while Rick rubbed his back and ass against Cliff’s torso and crotch until the two men were sweat fused. As Brandy had expected, the chair promptly collapsed. From his now very uncomfortable position a cursing Cliff had a direct view of… the metal garden bench. A trick of intense light and shadow had turned the scrollwork of its back into an evil toothed maw. He could swear that it was calling out to him. “Let me griddle your ass…”</p><p>Cliff wriggled out from underneath a hysterically laughing bunny and knelt at Rick’s head. Bracketed by his golden man’s knees, kitten was perfectly content to lie there and dwell on the view; but Cliff had other ideas. He leaned back and sat on his haunches. Then, he placed his calloused hands in Rick’s armpits and pushed the kitten’s flesh inwards towards his breastbone Cliff squeezed as hard as he could until a shallow channel separated reddening flesh. “Shit partner!” Cliff was trying to give him cleavage. “Mighty pretty knobs on your jugs baby.” Cliff bent down and tongued hardening nubbins. “Jesus,” was their common opinion. Rick clutched at golden hair and pressed the fondling mouth against his breast until his nipples were swollen and ripe. When Cliff pushed his tongue into the shallow furrow that separated them and buried his face, all that Rick could contemplate was “Crap! He’s trying to motorboat me. Hell. I’m not going to complain… shit… he’s really good at it…  he’s biting me!  I’m not going to complain about that either… Yeah. Lick my jugs… Now I have jugs?”</p><p>Cliff closed his eyes and focused on the task at hand. Then, a stuttering whisper caught his attention. “Did… did…  I do it right last night partner? This… afternoon did… did you enjoy it? Was it O… O… OK?” The gamut of emotions expressed in those words, uncertainty, hope, happiness, floored him. The collar yoke around his neck tightened- and he didn’t mind. “Christ, so much for my grip on the situation. I have my work cut out for me. Well, I should have expected that.” Rick began to meow in pain. It was a sound that Cliff recognized from previous experience. His five o’clock shadow was rubbing Rick’s over sensitized nipples, and it was hurting him. An old movie line suddenly came to Cliff’s mind. “Pain and love are never far apart… or was it Love and pain are…”  Love, that four letter word had never been in his vocabulary; until now. “Shit, better never say that to bunny. He’ll start calling me a faggot.”</p><p>Cliff released bunny’s chest and with uncoordinated limbs moved forward until his junk and ass covered Rick’s face. A muffled voice emerged from Cliff’s crotch. “What are you doing partner?”  The golden man looked down and laughed. “I have talking balls... Just getting a better look at my new candy cane darling… Can’t wait to suck it…” Rick held his breath.</p><p>“Now what?” That question was uppermost in Cliff’s mind as the wobbly man faced the weeping (“does he weep from everywhere?”) slit of a purple red and very hard cock. “Now what?” A suddenly paralyzed Rick agonized, “What?” He knew that depending on the answer to this question he would soon either have a panic attack or lose all control. “Is he just going to stare? Is he going to jerk me off?! Is he going to suck me?!!!!” Not knowing what was coming next was driving him nuts. He snapped out of his numbed state and sought guidance from the teacher that had never failed him… movies. Johnny Weissmuller gave him direction. “Lie still, be silent, no sudden moves, don’t frighten the quarry...” So steered, he sought quiet and calm by first trying to blow up Cliff’s foreskin as if it were a balloon and failing (no matter how hard he puffed) and then concentrating on coaxing Cliff’s ballsack to the side of his face. He needed a vantage point.</p><p>Cliff had to admit that close up Rick’s cock looked “kinda cute.” Except for its Technicolor shading it reminded him of a baby “Cecil the Seasick Sea Serpent.” He was feeling wobbly, comfortable, calm, horny, in lust, and the overwhelming impulse to tickle a sea serpent. “Cute?” The inclination to yield was there, but so was this NOT cunt, NOT pussy, NOT ass, winking, oozing, twitching snake. It seemed that a mental impasse was in the air… bug eyed immobility laid claim to Cliff.</p><p>Rick tried to crane his neck and look down in the direction of his crotch. He had no intention of having a nervous breakdown.  As far as he was concerned it was up to him to save the day. While rubbing Cliff’s wrinkled ballsack against his chin (no big movements) an idea had developed in his mind. He had set it aside to preserve his personal dignity; but the desperate situation in which he found himself demanded a mortifying act.  “What the fuck are you doing kitten?” asked Cliff as through blurry eyes he watched Rick perform drunk crotch origami. Rick had reached down and from behind grabbed his junk, pulled back hard, and clamped his legs together. Cliff faced a hairy slitless baby vag. He decided he could work with that.</p><p>Cliff inserted his tongue in the v shaped crease Rick had formed and he explored. The sensation of wiry hair scrubbing his tongue was as expected. He didn’t smell the musky odor, or taste the penny flavor, of pussy. Instead a funky pungent earthy smell overpowered his nose and his tongue lapped at slick and salty sweat and… a marguerita? That would do for a first impression… It was time to make a stronger case for bunny crotch munching.</p><p>Well, what his baby had eaten probably accounted for his strong smell {he’d smelled far, far, worse skank funk) and he liked salt and marguerita… Cliff dipped his fingers in the pitcher by Rick’s side and shakily dribbled slush on Rick’s fake cunt. Bunny almost jumped out of his skin when the ice cold slurry pooled in his groin fold. As they say, “in for a lick, in for a long slurp.” With eyes closed, a stag loop playing in his mind, and a tongue drooling with saliva, Cliff plunged in.</p><p>The golden man lapped and sucked the hairy flesh. He puffed and blew air on what he was imagining to be Rick’s cunt until the man could not stop squirming. Grabbing Cliff’s hair and pushing a now ruddy and flushed face down into his pubes did not help Rick control the situation. Instead, as the man’s licking and sucking tongue probed deeper and deeper to Rick’s taint searching for a non-existent camel toe, the inevitable happened, Rick lost control, his thighs opened and his cock and balls popped out. Cliff immediately felt one of his eyes being poked by a springy pole and that a rubbery bumpy mass was covering his nose and mouth. He opened his eyes, saw the cause of his bother and realized he didn’t care. It was Rick’s flesh and he craved it. His senses were saturated with the smell, taste, feel, and textures of Rick’s crotch. After a moment’s hesitation, he opened his mouth and shoved the flailing cock into his mouth as deep as he could. The taste of precum surprised him. It didn’t repel him but it had the sharp smell of ammonia.”Bitter honey… bitter honey,” he thought. He needn’t have worried about his cocksucking technique as Rick was so aroused that he came after a few licks and slurps. Rick’s come filled his mouth at the same time that he filled Rick’s with his. Had Cliff not rolled off of him Rick would have happily suffocated.</p><p>Drained as he was, Rick found the energy to crawl and twist and turn until he faced Cliff. Between gasps the golden man ruefully asked, “Shit… How come we turn into fucking feelie touchy chicks when we polish the knob? Crap…” Rick, who by then had figured out the answer replied. “Partner, because we’re men who can’t say shit except call each other partner, kitten, fucker, stud, whatever… We let our cocks talk for us. We jerk and suck each other off… soon maybe do more… and hope that’s enough....  Is it?” Cliff nuzzled Rick. “It is if my baby says so.” That was a prompt cue for a declaration of feelings if Rick had ever heard one. Considering what they had confessed to each other during the day, it was so not going to happen.  “Baby? I’m your baby? If I’m your baby, you shitty old mother fucker, then you must be my daddy.” Cliff jerked up and took the bait. “Crap! Son of a bitch. I told you to never call me daddy…” Having loosened the joint on the arm he was industriously tonguing, it was now time to pop it out of its socket.  “You started it! You said you were, and I repeat, almost old enough to be my father. OK, it you don’t want me to call you daddy, how about old mother fucker?” Brandy, who had been lying by the pool, so proud that she had managed to not be noticed, took one look at Cliff’s face and quickly ran into the house. Cliff had every intention of spanking Rick but stopped himself when he considered that Rick might like it. “Go back to fucking slurping and sleep.”</p><p>Rick woke lying by the pool with a full pitcher of marguerita next to him. On his opposite side Cliff’s moonlight drenched butt naked body was draped over his chest and groin. In sleep, he had asserted his status as proprietor and was lying with one knee in Rick’s crotch, wedging the bunny’s legs open, while one hand cupped one of Rick’s now softened nipples.  “I’ve got to talk to him about his thing with tits.” He grumbled. “I don’t mind as long as they’re mine; but he’d better not be expecting them to grow.”  He nudged Cliff until he could sit up and dangle his feet in the pool’s water. Further nudging positioned the “old mother fucker” so that he was lying with his head in Rick’s lap. Their family group was complete when Brandy decided to keep Cliff’s feet warm by settling on them (of course, she had no interest in having toes wiggling on her belly).</p><p>Cliff’s eyes closed. He smoked while Rick inhaled his cigarette’s fumes. Rick looked down on the man’s face and ran the fingers of one hand through Cliff’s hair while his other hand stroked a taught cheek. The stark moonlight had turned his man from gold to silver. Radiating light, the raking moonlight etched out the fine wrinkles that surrounded Cliff’s eyes and marked his forehead. Wrinkles and folds were forming on his jawline.  One could almost say that Cliff was defenseless…</p><p>There were many things he wanted to say to Cliff. But he knew that if he tried to do so the man would yell “Fag Shit!” and stampede. So, to get away with doing it, he would have to express them only in an internal monologue...   “Where the hell is this going partner? Shit, I don’t mean the sex. I know where that’s going… Fact is, I want you in me partner… Hope my ass can take it…  Crap, you’re still my cowboy stuntman, and after today I know you are my old mother fucker, but time is doing a number on you. What it’s doing to me I don’t want to know. Will you want me when I look like a used slag; a fat has been? Maybe you will… you like my jelly belly… Never the fuck mind. Cliff Booth, every morning I’m going to drain you. When you ask me what your cum tastes like, I’ll tell you it’s like sweet sticky honey and that I will never get enough of it… When you leave our bed you won’t think about anything but me and Brandy- and maybe the pool… in that order… I hope… You want me with a pussy? I’ll tape my junk up and cover it with a piece. You want to call my ass a cunt? Fine. I’ll scream for you to fuck my box and tell you how good it makes me feel… Well… let’s wait a little while before we go there… You want to call me bunny, baby, kitten, whatever name you can fuck the hell think of? I’ll tell you I like it; which I have to confess, is true. Just, just don’t call me your old lady…  I’m an actor Cliff- a fucking good actor. You’ve said so over and over.  I can be whatever you can think of. Rick grinned, “My friend, partner, and… I’ll never say this out loud to you… old fucking lover. The man who carries my load in more ways than one...”</p><p>Cliff opened his eyes and looked up at Rick. He checked out the pleased expression on his face. ”He looks happy. A good blow job will do that to a man. Cliff preened. I did that… He sure got the hang of cocksucking real fast. Hell, I’m getting the hang of cocksucking. Soon I’ll even enjoy swallowing cum… Better, because he’s got plenty of that in his balls. He has an ass, not a cunt. Well… Maybe I can keep that to myself… Don’t know about rimming, but I sucked his taint, and that’s pretty close… Well, it had been marguerita flavored most of the time… Never going to hurt him; only make him feel good, safe… safe… how? We need money and he needs fame. I’m a cheap date and don’t need much. I can ride his coattails for the rest of our lives and be happy. I’ll eat when he eats. But he’s used to the good life, silk sheets, fancy bathrobes, expensive liquor not beer, and that takes cash. My career is down the toilet and his is on the ropes… so is his ego…” Rick grinned. “Maybe not as much after today. Got to make him drink and smoke less; maybe lose some weight; even if I have to give up his sweet plush jelly belly roll… That agent, Marvin Shwarz, maybe… He says he can make Rick a lead again… Got to convince kitten to call the guy up after I put him in order. I can do all of that. That and taking care of his house and life are things that’ll keep me busy... Starting tomorrow I won’t have time to think about what the fuck all this means.” A stoical Cliff put out his cigarette and turned his face into Rick’s caresses. After a while he pushed his face into Rick’s soft snuggle pouch and began to rub it with his bristle covered cheeks. He would soon begin to suck his kitten’s navel and his tongue would travel lower and again begin licking his baby’s cock...</p><p>Dawn found them wrapped around each other. Through barely opened eyelids Cliff looked about. In the dim light he could see half torpid night insects weakly flitting around them, intent on one last feeding. “I’m like one of them,” he thought. “A fly that’s hungry… I’m hungry for bitter honey… I want to drown in his…”</p><p>To be completed.</p>
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